Enter to win a paperback copy of Mercury Striking
Mercury Striking
The Scorpius Syndrome #1
The Scorpius Syndrome #1
By: Rebecca Zanetti
Releasing January
26, 2016
Zebra
Zebra
With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynn Harmony
has trekked across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious, damaged
legend who protects the weak and leads the strong. He’s more than muscle and
firepower—and in post-plague L.A., he’s her only hope. As the one woman who
could cure the disease, Lynn is the single most volatile—and
vulnerable—creature in this new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax
Mercury…
Danger has never looked quite so delicious…
Danger has never looked quite so delicious…
What had she done? Lynne had
actually fallen asleep on Jax Mercury. She awoke, blinking inside the stifling
hood, just as he lifted her into the cool morning air and easily strode over
uneven ground. A slight change of temperature hit her, and his steps leveled
out.
Inside.
They were inside somewhere. The smell of dust and burned tomato soup tickled
her nose, but no sound provided a clue as to their whereabouts. All but
blinded, she tried to tune in to her other senses. Jax’s boots clomped heavily
across a hard surface, and his heart beat steadily against her shoulder.
His
stride didn’t hitch as he climbed stairs, turned, walked in a too-quiet area,
and opened a door. The world tilted, and he placed her, gently actually, on
what felt like a fake leather sofa.
He
yanked the hood off.
Light
from halogen lamps assaulted her wide pupils, and she winced, her eyes tearing.
“You’re an ass.”
Silver
flashed, and he cut the zip ties. “So it has been said.”
Heat
climbed into her face. The man had carried her easily and didn’t seem winded a
bit. Even so, the legends whispered around campfires and refugee camps across
the country had to be exaggerated. Nobody was that tough. “We need to talk,”
she gritted out.
He
yanked a kitchen chair toward her, turned it, and straddled it. Now, in the
light, she was struck by how young he really was. Maybe mid-thirties, black
hair, dark brown eyes, and rugged facial features. Handsome in a pissed-off
kind of way. A scar cut under the left side of his jaw, white and deadly. “So,
talk.”
She
swallowed and tugged her backpack to her chest, glancing around what appeared
to be a small apartment. A kitchenette took up one wall, an unmade bed the
other, with dented furniture in between. Sofa, metal coffee table, woodlaminate
kitchen table, paint peeling pink kids’ dresser, and mismatched kitchen chairs.
Maps covered the table, spread out haphazardly. “Where am I?”
“You
don’t get to know that.” He rested his arms on the top of the chair, muscles
flexing.
She
bit her lip. Men’s clothing littered the unmade bed, and the smell of musk and
male filled the atmosphere. “Whose place am I in?”
“Mine.”
He lifted a shoulder, his gaze unwavering. “And yours now, I guess.”
She
pushed back into the torn pleather. “I’m not, I mean, I—”
One
dark eyebrow rose. “You’re here because I’m keeping an eye on you and making
sure you don’t infect anybody else.”
“I
won’t infect anybody else,” she said slowly, her nails digging into the couch
until the pads of her fingertips protested. “We don’t really know the truth
about that statement, now do we? You’re the ultimate carrier of the most
dangerous plague to ever attack mankind.” He lowered his chin, the movement
somehow menacing. “You’re also here so I can make sure you’re not ready to
check out.”
She
rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t have traveled this
far to do it.”
“Fair
enough.”
She
glanced at the unmade bed. Too many women had become victims as the world had
disintegrated; the strong overcame the weak. She wasn’t weak, and she was no
man’s plaything. “I’m not here for your amusement.”
“I’m
not amused.” He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Let me
be perfectly clear. I don’t force myself on women, and neither do any of my
men. Any people here, and anyone we come across, remain safe from personal
attack. Rape is a crime dealt with by death, so you have no need to fear.”
She’d
heard that in the rumors and tales, but she hadn’t known it to be true. “Women
don’t earn their keep, earn their protection, with sex here?” Wherever here was.
“No.”
“You
were in an inner-city L.A. gang. Years ago.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Rape was
against the rules?”
His face blanked. “No, but I’ve
never forced a woman.” Those dark eyes narrowed. “My past is my own. You sure
know a lot about me.”
Not
really. He’d become a folk legend fighting in L.A. before the news had shut
down. Since then she’d been trying to gather facts, but there were still
blanks. “Why did you leave the gang? I’ve never heard why you entered the
army.”
He
rubbed his chin. “Judge gave me a choice. Prison or military. I guess he saw
something in me.”
She
let her shoulders relax. “I wondered.”
“Yeah.”
Jax eyed her shirt just at her neck. “Can I see again?”
Well,
she couldn’t really blame him. She set aside the pack holding her father’s
precious journal. Her fingers remained steady this time as she unbuttoned the
blouse and drew open the sides.
Jax’s
nostrils flared, while a tension, one she barely remembered as sexual, overtook
the atmosphere. “Does it hurt?”
“The
blueness?” She glanced down, her lungs suddenly
too tight “No. I don’t feel anything.”
He
reached out and gently took her wrist, shoving the sleeve up to reveal the
track marks on her elbow. “This must hurt.”
His
touch stirred awareness deep in her abdomen, and surprise paused her at the
feeling. When was the last time she’d felt desire? Or even warmth from
another’s touch? She glanced down at the scars caused by drawing so much blood.
So many times, and outside of normal medical procedures after a while. “Yes.
That hurts.”
“I
knew a junkie once with an arm like this.” Jax shook his head and unrolled her
sleeve. “The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence,
rather, a condition of it,” he murmured, securing the buttons at her wrist. She
frowned as the familiar words rolled around her head. “Einstein?”
“Nietzsche.”
Jax lifted an eyebrow. “Rumor has it you’re carrying an advanced form of
Scorpius. True or false?” “False rumor to isolate me.” She tried to keep her
tired eyes open.
Jax
gestured toward her pack. “I get the food and water you have, but what’s in the
journal?”
She
sighed. “Sorry, but there’s nothing about Scorpius. My dad was a physicist and
a philosopher. He wrote a lot down.”
Jax
blinked. “That’s quite the combination.”
“Yes.”
The words on paper were all she had left of her parents.
Jax
studied her and then looked toward the gas lamp on the counter. “We have
lanterns left, but not for long unless we get more fuel. So keep an eye on the
lamp but extinguish it if you go to sleep.”
“I
understand.” The guy was quoting Nietzsche? What kind of an ex-gang member
turned army special ops turned leader of a vigilante group knew philosophy? She
shook her head. Time to negotiate. “I’m here for a reason.” “I’m sure.” He eyed
her blue heart again. “You can cover up.”
She
fumbled in refastening her shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know about the
illness, and you provide temporary protection and one kill.” The mere idea she
was contracting a murder banished the desire humming inside her and replaced
the heat with a lump of cold rock.
A
veil fell over Jax’s eyes. “What makes you think we don’t know everything you
do about the illness?”
She
shrugged, wondering if he knew what kind of information he might have stored
away just from his ransacking labs. “The Internet went down fast, much faster
than anyone would’ve thought, and the news and television thereafter. No way do
you know what I know.”
He
watched her patiently, as if waiting to strike. “The Internet went down because
of a guy named Spiral.”
She
blinked. Wow. So Jax Mercury had some seriously good intel. “True. He was
infected with the illness and then reacted by creating a world-class computer
virus. Figured if bodies died, so should technology, since it got us in this
fix in the first place.” Her instincts hummed. Underestimating Mercury would be
a colossal mistake. Suddenly, and for the first time in way too long, hope
struggled to unfurl within her. “I still know more about the illness than you
do.”
“Probably.”
He studied her for a few moments longer before cocking his head to the side.
“What else?”
She
cleared her throat. “I assume you’ve scavenged the area you control?”
His
chin lifted. “So?”
She
swallowed, her body stilling. “Did you scavenge the emergency CDC outpost on
the southeast side of L.A.?” Her blood pumped so fast she could feel a vein in
her neck bulging.
“Yes.
Why?” he asked softly.
The
softness contained a deadly intent that rippled a shiver down her spine. Her
fingers fidgeted. “They had the most recent research, and combined with mine,
we might have hope.” They also had intel on where Myriad, the ultrasecret lab,
might be located.
He
studied her. “We raided the CDC outpost and took all medical supplies and paper
records. Our limited medical personnel went through the files looking for
cures, but I have to be honest, none of them are researchers with your
background.”
Lynne leaned forward. “I’m happy
to go through all the information and decipher it for you.” Oh God. Maybe the
risk of heading into Mercury’s territory would actually pay off . . . if she
could find Myriad. “Could I look through the data?”
He
leaned back and studied her. “Sure. Are you telling me there may be a cure?”
USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as
an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner
- only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim
them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic
suspense novels.
Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of
the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to
weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband,
children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least
give her plenty of characters to write about.
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